The sea and a parallel path in a straight streak, streetlights lining, diffused because of the deeps, forlorn but for two motorcycles, parked on the roadside; the riders vanished in some part of the shore. No moths, no night flowers, no fireflies; the roar trespasses a fraction of the raucous silence, frothing edges, too little light, surreal street lamps dreaming yellow, desolate; pushing, space into a miniature room,ignorance maiming the sense’s choices; a lone languid dog living, running away the internment of life. What space does the vast sheet occupy? a mere rupture or a rapturous fissure? A pretentious extrovert bumping against my consciousness,limiting its expanse? I,unaware of its depth of introversion-become distracted-camouflaged by the crafty waves,cool and frothy like long, winding, pallid snakes appearing and vanishing;a liquefied,tricky darkness,feebly scrawling the horizons,taunted by the impatience of the enduring survival,shaken by a sudden intelligence.

Only one motorcycle is left now, a moonless light ramming gloom into an eccentric midnight-crow to strangely caw, rending the heavens and hell…..within me.Back on the balcony of the attic, I looked where I had walked but didn’t see any sea;only a few muted streetlamps.